


Case 32: The Adventure Of The Green-Eyed Monster (1882)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [42]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Gay Sex, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, London, Love, M/M, Nannies, Prostitution, Teenagers, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 10:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16473644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Being a Victorian teenager is bad enough, but when your father is first difficult over employing a most unconventional nanny and worse, then starts making cow-eyes at them, it is high time to call in Mr. Sherlock Holmes!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts).



_[Narration by Master Peter Wolf]_

I suppose that I should start by introducing myself. My name is Peter Oliver Wolf and I live in Bayswater, London. My father's name is Thomas (I never call him that as he would be mortified but then that is grown-ups for you) and my mother – frankly the less said about her, the better. She had left Father when I was only two years old because, according to my nanny until recently Miss Granger, she had found him 'boring'. He is, but that is no reason to leave someone in my opinion; many of my friends' parents are _far_ more boring, especially Teddy's who could remove paint with their talk. 

I was lucky that I inherited little if anything from my unmissed mother; I am very much the image of my (paternal) grandfather which is good with the unusual blue-violet eyes but not so much with the nose that Father calls aquiline and I call plain long. And rather better I did not inherit said grandfather's nature; it was he who married my father off against his will when he was but eighteen, and his (my grandfather's) death that according to the servants' gossip triggered my mother's departure as she was sure that as the mother of his sole grandson she would inherit something from him.

She did. Precisely one ha'penny!

I was fourteen years old at the time of this story and on the cusp of becoming a man when my life took a new turn. It started when Miss Granger decided to retire for which I was.... well, sort of sorry. She was terrifyingly efficient and not the least bit kind, but she meant well and was never actually cruel to me (again, unlike the experiences of several of my less fortunate friends). I did not exactly mourn her departure as I strongly hoped that Father would decide not to replace her since I was not that far from becoming a man. However he did so – and that was where things started getting complicated.

֍

A colleague at the bank where Father worked had recently had a bad experience with one of the employment agencies in the city, as a result of which Father had decided to undertake the selection process himself. Miss Granger had advised him to request a short letter from potential applicants as the more able ones would be able to express themselves better that way. It certainly helped Father whittle down the applicants from over a dozen and in the end he decided that he would interview one of them first as their letter was very well written (and he did not need to look at _me_ like that when he remarked on the neat handwriting; his was even worse!). On the plus side he asked me to sit in with him to see if I liked the applicant, which was probably just as well as things turned out.

On the day one 'C. Hamlin' duly arrived and was shown in. I stared in astonishment, and I was not the only one.

“Colt?” Father exclaimed.

I looked at him, then at our visitor who looked almost as embarrassed as my parent very clearly was. Mr. C. Hamlin was very tall, about six inches taller than Father who was a shade under six foot tall. Like Father he was in his early thirties if rather better turned out, although that was not difficult given my parent's attitude towards clothing. His height apart the newcomer's most distinctive feature was his long black hair which hung down to his shoulders in a way which was quite shocking for a gentleman in those days. Although perhaps not as shocking as a gentleman applying for the position of nanny. And Father knew him.

It occurred to me far too quickly for someone of my tender years precisely how Father 'knew' him, namely all those visits to a nearby molly-house that I was not supposed to know about. That meant he and this fellow – I was too young for that sort of thing!

“You are a man!” Father exclaimed (he had an irritating tendency to state the obvious when under stress).

“I am aware of that fact, sir”, Mr. Hamlin said, recovering quickly. “I have lived thirty-two years on this earth and in that time I have on occasion looked between my own legs to observe what is there. As I am sure _you_ know very well, I am all man!”

I had not known that a fellow human being could turn that shade of red. My poor father looked mortified!

“But.... this post is for a nanny”, Father managed eventually (I managed to convey a sense of confusion at his behaviour which I think reassured him somewhat; he would have died of mortification if he had suspected that I knew about his 'visits to his friend in Fitzrovia'). “It involves taking care of my son.”

“I am aware of that too, sir”, Mr. Hamlin said. “I work part-time at the British Library and help out in the crèche there. And I have raised a brother much younger than myself from when my parents died and he was but thirteen years old, five years my junior.”

“You did not say in your letter that you were a man”, Father objected.

I sighed to myself. I knew that tone of voice all too well. He was going to be Difficult again.

“To be fair, Father, you did not say that we actually wanted a _lady_ nanny”, I said earning myself a scowl for my pains. “I like Mr. Hamlin. Can we keep him?”

I could see that he was teetering on the edge of a refusal. I thought at first it was for the obvious reason that I was working very hard not to think about but then I saw the way that he was looking at the fellow and..... oh dear. He _liked_ him. 

God seriously owed me for what I was about to do.

All right, time for action. I put on my most piteous expression and threw in a quivering lip to be on the safe side. As usual it worked; I could see our soon to be new employee was impressed.

“A trial period”, Father said, looking cross at having been won over. “We shall see.”

֍

It most certainly had been a trial, in every sense. Having a male nanny – a 'manny' Cook called him; I sometimes wondered about those mushrooms she ate so many of – was different but fun, far better than old Miss Granger. Mr. Hamlin's first name was Colgrevance after the knight in King Arthur but he liked to be called Colt, I think partly because it always reminded Father that.... no, not going there! He took me all sorts of exciting places and he always talked to me as if I was already an adult. When you are fourteen years old and most of the way towards manhood, that sort of thing is important.

There was nearly a problem right at the start of Colt's time with us when he told Father that, some three years back, a woman had accused him of molesting her (I happened to know of the female in question and frankly I would have sooner expected Colt to have molested the ghastly Miss Dawes across the street, a woman who had simpered at Father one time and made him run faster that I had thought possible). The problem had been resolved by an acquaintance of Colt's, a consulting detective called Mr. Sherlock Holmes who had proven her allegations false, and furthermore had obtained for Colt the services of one of Harley Street's top doctors. Until then he had been a mute but now he could talk almost like anyone else. There was the very slightest hesitation before he spoke but not so as anyone would really notice although bearing in mind one of his jobs talking was probably not really.... no, still not going there!

The downside of having Colt though – oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. The covert looks that Father kept giving him were bad enough, plus the fact that I had to make sure I always 'missed' them, but a couple of weeks after the interview he had to travel down to Margate in Kent so he decided to make a long weekend of it and take me to the beach, which was kind of him. He had intended to give Colt the time off but when the fellow found that neither of us knew how to swim he insisted on coming. And boy, what a mistake _that_ was!

Seriously, Father could hardly have been more obvious. When he first saw Colt in his bathing-costume, I swear that I could see the drool. Matters were not helped by the fact that the fellow turned out to be even more muscled than I had thought and.... well, I shall be diplomatic and say that he needed a costume at least one size larger, if not two in some areas! I was sorely tempted to hand 'someone' a handkerchief with which to wipe away the drool. Really, at his age!

One of the things Miss Granger had told me was that during their short and stormy marriage my unmissed mother had never passed up an opportunity to denigrate Father, so I knew that he thought little of his own looks. My friend Llew had once said that he 'had a kindly look about him', which I knew even without the face Miss Granger had pulled at the time was _not_ something that a male would really wish to hear. But Llew was right; Father was quite plain except when he smiled and his hazel eyes lit up beneath his mess of untidy wheaten hair. I tried to be good for him as I liked it when he smiled; he had had more than enough trouble in his life so far the poor old fellow.

֍

One of the advantages of being fourteen is that no-one expects you to be the least bit subtle so I felt quite all right with cornering Colt on the way back and asking him about all Father's leering at him. He flushed bright red.

“Your father is a most attractive man”, he said carefully, “but... it is always a difficult matter between an employer and an employee.”

“But he likes you”, I pressed. “Do you like him?”

He managed to turn even redder.

“Your father is a good man”, he muttered, not looking me in the eye.

Seriously, 'a good man'? And I had thought so well of him until he had come out with that sort of tripe. This needed seeing to!

֍


	2. Chapter 2

After giving the matter some serious thinking over a quarter of rhubarb and custard sweets, I decided that I needed the help of a professional. Mr. Sherlock Holmes had for whatever reason helped Colt before and while asking for one's nanny and one's father to.... you know, was hardly a murder or a bank robbery, I hoped that he might be inclined to do it again. I had no other arrows in my quiver.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes lived in rooms in Cramer Street, which itself I thought a little odd. I knew from reading about an adventure of his in the _'Strand'_ magazine that he was rich enough not to need to ask for money for his work, and I wondered why could he not afford a house of his own. Llew thought this might be something to do with his mother Lady Holmes, who he had said was a writer 'of sorts'. Very foolishly – I _was_ fourteen – I had inquired as to the 'of sorts' and he had shown me a story that Lady Holmes had written and that his mother had read to him one time.

I was still shaking the next day. I mean, if _that_ sort of thing went on in cricket clubs then I never wanted to play the sport again! And using a middle stump for.... ugh! Double ugh!

I supposed Llew had meant that the frightful Lady Holmes (some lady if she wrote that sort of thing!) might be less inclined to visit lodgings rather than a house, although if any relative of mine had come out with something like that I would have been looking up transport options to Timbuctoo! However once I had met Mr. Sherlock Holmes I began to form a rather different opinion. That is one of the advantages of being a quiet young man; you get to observe people better.

Mr. Holmes scored good points immediately for receiving me as an adult and asking what I would like to drink, rather than just assuming water or orange juice as so many people did. He was a hard man to describe; he seemed short yet I later found out he was the same height as Father, about six foot tall. I thought that he had to be absent-minded as he had apparently forgotten to brush his hair that day only to later find out that it always looked like that. His eyes were almost supernaturally blue and, I thought, kind just like Colt's and Father's.

It was his room-mate Doctor Watson who drew my attention more, and not just because he was physically very different. He was a few inches taller and more solidly built than his friend though in both cases not as much as Colt, and had cropped sandy-coloured hair. His eyes were green and, I noticed, almost constantly on Mr. Holmes.

Interesting. I might have a better chance of success here than I had first thought.

“Thank you for seeing me, sirs”, I said politely. “I suppose you must get all sorts of strange requests but I have a problem with my nanny.”

“Many boys do”, Mr. Holmes smiled. “What problem is she causing, exactly?”

“'She' is in fact a 'he'”, I said, “and that is the problem. My mother abandoned me when I was two and Father – he is interested in Colt – Mr. Colgrevance Hamlin. You helped him one time before, he said.”

There was the slightest raising of an eyebrow, and an even slighter smile. I continued.

“And Colt likes him but he says that nothing can come of it because he is an employee.”

I had almost expected the usual condescending explanation that adults tended to trot out at difficult times like this, so Mr. Holmes' next remark surprised me.

“Do you see his point?” he asked.

“I did not at first”, I conceded, “but people can be cruel when it comes to gossip. I suppose some would say that Father was abusing his position if he did make an approach. Unfortunately he has too low an opinion of his own looks to even think of doing that, although he is not really that ugly.”

Doctor Watson seemed to have a coughing fit just then.

“And you are sure that your father is interested in him?” Mr. Holmes asked.

I nodded. At least I was on firm ground there.

“A couple of years ago we had a footman called Peirce”, I said. “One of those young fellows who look very fine on the outside but are rotten beneath; a bad apple Cook called him. The other servants did not like him at all and I mostly trust their judgement. I think that he wanted to start something with Father; luckily he was on trial so I asked that he not be taken on full-time. I did not make any accusations against him; I just said that he made me feel uncomfortable which was true enough.”

“And your father agreed to this?” Mr. Holmes asked.

“I can usually get my way with him over things”, I said. “I just give him a piteous look and quiver my lip.”

For some reason Doctor Watson coughed into his hand just then. I was sure that I heard the word 'bacon' as Mr. Holmes shot him a sharp look.

“But that does not do the trick with your male nanny?” he asked me.

“It might”, I conceded, “but I want Father to be happy. He has not had an easy life what with one thing and another, and I do not want him to start out with Colt under a deception.”

“Yet you wish for me to somehow get them together?” Mr. Holmes pointed out.

“Father really does like Colt”, I said. “Seeing him in his bathing-costume on the beach at Margate – seriously, there was _drool!_ I just wanted to move away to the far end of the beach! And the time they both took me to the park then spent the whole time making cow-eyes at each other - if I could have done so I would have denied knowing the pair of them! But both are too stubborn to actually _do_ anything. It is just annoying!

“It seems that the best way to tackle this problem would be from your nanny's side of things”, Mr. Holmes said. “Am I to assume that he is off duty when you are at school, sir?”

I liked it that he did not call me 'young sir' or, even worse as some people did, 'boy'!

“Yes”, I said. “He walks me to school in the mornings and collects me in the evenings, so he is off every day between nine and four. Although on some days he goes back to the house and prepares lessons or other activities for me.”

“And you do not mind lessons with him?” Mr. Holmes asked.

“He actually makes history _interesting_ ”, I said. “Mr. Ford at school could bore for England; he probably does. Colt teaches me all the gory details although I would never tell Father that. It would shock him.”

“That is very considerate of you”, Mr. Holmes smiled. “Do you happen to know where your nanny goes when he is not at the house?”

“I know the Library said that they wished him to continue there part-time Monday to Friday”, I said, “and he has a half-day Saturday. He works at his molly-house on that day, and on the Sabbath. Father, ahem, 'met' him there one time.”

Doctor Watson seemed to be having another coughing fit. Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes at him then turned back to me.

“You are clearly a young gentleman of excellent observational skills”, he said. “Colt is right; I met him through my half-brother Mr. Campbell Kerr who owns and runs a chain of molly-houses; in a sordid industry they rank as one of the very best. It was scurrilous and baseless accusations made against him that caused Campbell to ask for my help one time. I am pleased that Colt is doing so well; he is a most trusting and kind soul and I was happy to have helped him a little with his speech problems and to obtain a post at the Library where I know they value him very highly. I have never tried my hand at matchmaking before so I would quite like to see how I do. I think that if you come back here a week from today I should have at least some progress to report, but you may come sooner if you feel the need.”

I thanked him and left, wondering why I would need to contact him so soon.

I had underestimated him.

֍


	3. Chapter 3

Just three days later I did have cause to visit Mr. Holmes again. It was fortunate that his house was near my school and that the headmaster did not mind me visiting him provided I signed myself in and out of the place. Fortunately I caught the detective there although he was alone.

“Doctor Watson is in his surgery today”, he explained. “Has something happened?”

“I would say so”, I said. “When Colt came to pick me up from school yesterday he had a bruise on his face that had not been there that morning. Father was horrified!”

“Did Colt have any explanation for this injury?” Mr. Holmes asked.

I gave him a sharp look.

“He _says_ that he fell!” I said heavily.

“I am to take it from that that you think otherwise?” Mr. Holmes suggested.

“So did Father”, I sighed. “He was very cross although he could hardly say anything; one cannot really tell people one employs what to do with their spare time. But he did not like it.”

“Yet as you say, he can do nothing”, Mr. Holmes agreed. “Do keep me informed of any more developments, please.”

֍

The bruise thing had happened on a Friday and the next occurrence came the very next day. I was planning to go to the British Library that afternoon but events in the morning diverted me to Cramer Street once more.

“Colt had a limp when he picked me up yesterday”, I told Mr. Holmes. “And he was trying to hide it when we got home.”

“But your father noticed?” Mr. Holmes guessed. I nodded.

“He wanted to talk to Colt about it but I managed to persuade him not to”, I said. “I had to pull the lip again though and I do not want to overuse that.”

Over at his table Doctor Watson again coughed into his hand, and I was sure I once again heard the word 'bacon' in there for some reason. I looked curiously at Mr. Holmes who blushed.

“Sometimes the doctor gives me some of his bacon of a morning”, he said.

Another cough, and this time I heard the word 'sometimes'. Mr. Holmes looked hard at his friend who, I noted, was keeping his eyes very firmly down. I would have too, under that look.

Perhaps I could relate to Mr. Holmes, even if these two looked at each other almost the same way that Father and Colt did. Honestly, adults! Did I really have to become one?

֍

On Saturday I had walked round to Cramer Street thinking as I went and wondering just what was going on with Colt all of a sudden. It had been a pleasant enough day and while Father would not have minded my taking a cab, I knew because of my lack of athleticism that I needed the exercise.

On Sunday I took a cab. Because this was urgent.

I burst into Mr. Holmes' and Doctor Watson's rooms much too loudly, causing both gentlemen to look up in surprise.

“What is it?” Mr. Holmes asked.

“Colt came home this afternoon wearing a chain round his neck!” I said.

“So your nanny wears jewellery”, Mr. Holmes said calmly. “Many people do, sometimes even gentlemen.”

I shook my head at him.

“Not a gold chain”, I said. “A _metal_ one. And when Father challenged him about it, he said that he had been told that he _had_ to wear it. I have never seen Father so mad; he told me to go for a long walk while he had a talk with him.”

Mr. Holmes shook his head at that.

“There is worse”, I said urgently. “I did not even get out of the house when a gentleman came and asked for Colt. A rich-looking blond gentleman, possibly a lord as he had a carriage with a coat of arms on the side. I was waiting for a cab but I heard Father yelling at him and then he slammed the door in his face.”

“I think that we had better accompany you back to the house”, Mr. Holmes said gravely. 

He and Doctor Watson followed me back downstairs to the street where the latter quickly hailed a cab. I was more than a little surprised that when we pulled up outside the house the same blond gentleman from earlier was waiting outside a house a few doors down although there was no sign of his carriage. I frowned; what was going on?

Mr. Holmes alighted but did not seem to be in any particular hurry. Instead he walked over to the blond gentleman and spoke briefly to him. Something was passed between them that looked suspiciously like a note and.....

Lord but I was so dumb!

 _”That_ is what you have been doing these past few days!” I almost yelled at Mr. Holmes. “Making Father jealous!”

“A little theatrical make-up, a heavy weight strapped to your nanny's ankle, some ugly jewellery and a rich rival”, I said. “A most potent mixture. Let us see if it has succeeded.”

I led the way in suddenly feeling a bit squeamish. Of course I wanted Father to be happy above all else but the thought of him doing..... That? Ugh!

Fortunately all seemed well as we found Colt sitting downstairs, reading. He smiled up at our arrival. 

“Master Peter, Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson”, he said. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

“Where is Father?” I asked. He grinned knowingly.

“Upstairs”, he said. “Sleeping.”

“At this time of an afternoon?” I asked surprised.

All three of them just looked at me. I stared back at them in confusion and then, far too late, I got it. Oh come on!

“No details!” I told Colt firmly pointing a finger at him. “Or _I_ will be the one to get you fired!”

The bastard sniggered anyway then looked at his watch. 

“Ah well” he said rising to his feet (slowly, I noticed). “Back to 'work'.”

“And I really need to visit the Library”, I said fervently. 

“Make sure you have a nice _long_ day there”, said someone I no longer liked at all. I glared at him.

“Father has work tomorrow”, I said pointedly. “Just.... you be good to him mind.”

“Even when he likes me being bad?” he teased.

Lord above, what had I gone and done?

֍

I had forgotten of course that when I returned to the house late that evening Father would want to Talk with me. Well, I very much doubted that he really _wanted_ to but he would feel that he had to. Adults!

I did not know which was worse, the grinning servants who brought in dinner or the fact that Father was very obviously someone who had spent the afternoon doing rather more than just writing letters. And I was seriously re-evaluating Colt as a friend from his knowing grin, especially when a certain relative of mine yelped as he sat down a shade too fast. 

Father looked awkwardly at me and I prayed harder than I had ever prayed before.

“Uh.... Peter....”

“I know!” I said fervently. “Believe me, I _know!_ As for you Colgrevance Hamlin, thank the Lord my bedroom is right the other side of the house!”

Father blushed fiercely. Colt was fighting to hold back a laugh and I glared at the pair of them.

“I shall say Grace”, I said as the butler withdrew (I was amazed that he got through the door with a smirk that wide) “and then we will have a quiet dinner. A very quiet dinner!”

“Save the noises till later!” muttered someone over whom I was fast having second thoughts. Adults!

֍

All right, it was worth it in the end. In the weeks that followed I had never seen Father look so blissfully happy, so I tried not to think of what was happening on the other side of the house. When Father looked uncertainly at me one evening I just nodded, and he went and cuddled on the settee with Colt, who really could do with toning down that smirk a notch of twelve. They were such a pair of idiots!

֍


End file.
